B3 & B7
by unforgetabELLE
Summary: Marinette was grinding her teeth in aggravation now, raising her hand to knock again, when the door finally opened. Out of breath and clearly frazzled stood a man, about her age, his probably-blonde hair darkened with what looked like soot and his maybe-green eyes hidden behind smudged glasses. Marinette was comfortable enough to label the boy a hot mess.


"Shit!" Adrien rushed to the pan on the stove, the acrid smell of burning garlic quickly filling the small kitchen as he tossed the charred its contents into the sink. Looking at the blackened pan in dismay, the blonde hung his head before moving to run the still smoking pan under the water. He possessed enough domestic knowledge to know it needed to soak, but as soon as the water hit metal a billow of steam rose up to drown him. Dropping the pan and moving back to catch a clean breath through the cloudy kitchen, Adrien cringed as a creaking noise sounded from the sink. Tentatively, he peered over at the pan before cautiously grabbing the handle. He set it on his butcher block counter and watched it rock back and forth: completely warped. He cursed again.

He should have listened when Nino told him to get the more expensive, but better made, set for his kitchen, but Adrien was trying to live normally and not buy anything too extravagant. More than anything, he was annoyed by his own stupidity. While he was definitely no domestic god, he was a physics graduate for crying out loud! Rapidly cooled metal became warped or brittle. It was basic science.

Adrien turned off the water and moved to lean against the opposite counter. Running his fingers over his face, he took a deep breath before turning to the fridge with determination still intact and getting the ingredients to start over. He could do this. He had to be able to do this. He needed to prove to himself that he was a fully functioning human out on his own in the world. For some reason, being able to follow a simple recipe had become his symbol of achieving this.

When he'd finished university and expressed his desire to move out, his father had been surprisingly supportive. After years of homeschooling and then commuting to classes from home, Gabriel thought it would be a good life experience for him to live alone, away from the luxuries of a fully-staffed house. His father was internationally famous now, but had come from much humbler beginnings. Adrien always wondered if his years of steadfastly fighting to achieve what he had was part of the reason he'd become hardened to the world. And to Adrien.

Since he'd moved out, though, Adrien and Gabriel's relationship seemed to only get better. He hadn't gone far, just to the next arrondissement, but Gabriel was genuinely pleased to see him every Sunday when they met for lunch. It was a development Adrien's hadn't anticipated, but welcomed wholeheartedly. So, he was determined to make it work. Besides, he liked living on his own. He'd found a sparse but decent apartment and furnished it with run-of-the-mill furniture. Posters in loving tributes to his fandoms blanketed the walls and his meticulously arranged bookshelf of books and dvds was dotted with his far-too-extensive collection of funko pops.

It wasn't much, but it was his, and he was determined to learn, as Nino put it, to become "a real boy": domestic responsibilities and all.

First step: he needed to learn how to successfully feed himself.

Adrien moved the warped pan off to the side, and grabbed another off the hook on the wall. Turning the burner on low, he added olive oil to heat up slowly and moved to start mincing the garlic. Again.

He had just dumped the first minced-clove in the oil when he was assaulted by another burning smell. Looking down in confusion, he considered the pan of oil. He let his hand hover over top, and noted that is was still relatively cold. Smoke started to collect in the galley kitchen and his nose directed him to the oven.

The lasagna.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

He spun around the small space, grabbing desperately for pot holders and yanking open the creaky oven door. Holding his breath, he transferred the baking dish to a trivet on the counter, setting it down so hard tomato sauce billowed like lava from its depths, splattering his shirtfront. He didn't stop to clean it up though, desperately rushing to open a window and dispel the smoke making breathing currently impossible in the apartment.

Just as he unlocked it and shoved it open, an obnoxious blaring resounded throughout the apartment.

He'd set off the fire alarm.

Again.

"Shit," he muttered, repeating what seemed to be his motto for the day.

Sitting dejectedly on the window sill, he ran his still-mittened hands through his hair before pulling back and realizing they were covered with ash and the burnt remnants of his dinner. Pursed-lipped, he just nodded in acceptance. Through the blaring of the alarm, he vaguely heard a subtle chime and turned to regard Plagg who had chosen that moment to languidly appear from his bedroom. They regarded each other for a moment before the cat made a retching noise and promptly hacked up a hairball in the doorway.

Adrien simply nodded his head once more, accepting that his life had deteriorated into one grand Murphy's Law spectaculathon.

"Purr-fect."

* * *

Marinette's head lay on her desk, her chair pushed back and arms swinging uselessly towards the ground. She was stuck. Again.

She groaned, just to make a sound and prove to herself she was _at least_ capable of accomplishing that much, before letting her butt slide off the chair and crumbling into a heap on the floor. Maybe if she contorted her body into as many strange positions as possible, one would finally push the artistic-powers back up to her brain and finally get rid of whatever was blocking her inspiration.

It hadn't worked yet.

It wasn't like this was her first fashion competition. She'd done it over a dozen times, even winning some, but this one had higher stakes. She was set to graduate this year, and while she'd had the opportunity to volunteer on some shoots and had been shadowing Madame Tikki at her boutique for nearly two years now, this competition came with the chance for a real internship. The beginning of a chance at a real career. At Agreste Galleries.

She groaned again, flopping properly onto her back and throwing an arm over her eyes to block out the lowering sun streaming obnoxiously through her large picture windows. Even in her annoyance at the brightness, she smiled a little and internally thanked Alya's forward thinking. Picking the apartment with west-facing windows as opposed to the east-facing one that was slightly bigger had been the best call. She couldn't imagine how much grumpier she would be having to contend with _sunrise_ if sunset made her this annoyed. Nevertheless, she propped herself upright, staring at the horizon as it faded in a million colors, and begging herself to see something. _Anything._ Sunsets were beautiful. Poets wrote profusely about their wonders. Artists marveled at their kaleidoscope of colors. What did this fashion designer see? Not the vivid scarlets fading into soothing periwinkles. No. She had one thought.

_Sunsets get their color from air pollution. _

"ERGGHH!" she screamed and slumped back into the floor. Closing her eyes, she started her deep-breathing exercises instead. Counting methodically and working herself into a meditative trance, Marinette finally felt her heart begin to even out. She latched onto the tranquility, letting nostalgia overtake her as she thought of early morning summer strolls through the city...late night movie binges with her papa...weekend trips to the coast with Alya….

That was something.

She thought of the beach. Not of the undulating waves, but of the sand. A million shades from pristine white to a deep mauve. Its faceted surface catching the light just so…

She squeezed her eyes tighter, finally feeling on the brink of a breakthrough, when she was interrupted by a muffled blaring and her vision vanished.

Her eyelids lifted slowly, an angered frown taking over her face as her brow furrowed.

"Seriously?" she shouted to the empty room, her aggravation palpable. That was the third time the smoke detector had gone off in her neighbor's apartment this week. She'd been concerned the first time, but it always went out after a few minutes. Her new neighbor was either the world's worst chef or a pyromaniac. Marinette shot to her feet, shrugged into her sweater and hustled out the door. Padding barefoot around the corner to the apartment that backed up to hers, she stopped in front of apartment B3 and pounded on the antiquated oak. She smiled momentarily at the solid sound her knocks made as they echoed through the cramped halls; those doors were just one of the few old-world design charms that made her fall in love with the apartment complex built in the twenties. It had survived so long in their city, standing at a proud 10 storeys. It had been through wars. Call her a sentimental fool, but it made her believe she could create something as resilient and lasting. That is, if its newest resident didn't burn it down. And if she could finally draw _something_.

If her neighbor's overzealous smoke detector had anything to say about it, she'd be stuck behind this inspiration block forever.

Marinette was grinding her teeth in aggravation now, raising her hand to knock again, when the door finally opened. Out of breath and clearly frazzled stood a man, about her age, his probably-blonde hair darkened with what looked like soot and his maybe-green eyes hidden behind smudged glasses. Add in the tomato splattered gray shirt and ripped jeans that weren't faring much better, and Marinette was comfortable enough to label the boy a hot mess.

Her anger immediately drained away at the far-too-innocent look on his face, and when he opened his mouth and started to speak, she had to forgive him for interrupting her process. He was clearly having a far worse day than she.

"Hi," he gasped, somehow out of breath. Marinette knew the size of these apartments, so there was no way he was like that just from running to grab the door. It was just another hint at the chaos that must be happening inside.

"Hi," she returned hesitantly, trying not to stare at the disheveled mess of a man in front to her and floundering a bit now that her anger had faded away.

"Um," she began, grimacing a bit. "I heard the alarm."

The boy just blinked at her.

"I live around the corner. B7," she elaborated.

"Oh!" His face morphed into a smile and it was suddenly her turn to blink dumbly at him. Somehow, the simple action completely transformed his face as he seemed to light up from within. There was something familiar about it, but at the same time she was sure she'd never met her elusive neighbor before.

They stared at each other for a few more moments, the man not seeming to realize that social etiquette would indicate it was _his_ turn to respond in the form of something more substantial than an interjection. She watched as that very realization seemed to dawn on his face. He moved to open his mouth to speak, but was cut off by her yelp of surprise as a new billow of smoke rose from where she suspected his kitchen was and the alarm started to scream again.

"Shit! The garlic."

He spun, leaving her still standing in the doorway as he made a mad dash through the apartment. She heard the clatter of pans and the hiss of spilled oil. Then he was back, zooming past her again and waving what appeared to be a baking sheet towards the window. It took her a moment, but she suddenly realized he was trying to forcibly herd the smoke from the kitchen and out the window on the opposite side of the apartment.

Marinette was torn between disbelief and complete hilarity at the scene in front of her. She decided on a prudent middle ground, biting the inside of her cheek to hold back her laughter as she entered the apartment and closed the door behind her. Once she had stopped the smoke from seeping into the hallway and causing complaints from even more neighbors, she ignored the boy's stunned expression and strode straight into the kitchen. His appliances were newer than hers, but she quickly found the exhaust fan and turned it on high. Walking out and towards the bathroom, helpfully placed the same place as in her own apartment, she opened that door and hit that exhaust fan as well. The smoke alarm still blaring, she walked over to her neighbor, still flapping his cookie sheet maniacally, and took the implement from his hand before waving it directly under the smoke detector.

The two exhaust fans and one window had already done most of the work, and within a few seconds, she had dispelled any lingering smoke from around the detector. The apartment blessedly quiet again, she lowered her arms and turned to smile at her dumbfounded neighbor.

"Are you magic?"

She couldn't help but laugh at his whispered inquiry and hastily struck a pose, baking sheet still in hand.

"You caught me! Marinette Dupain-Cheng: Magical Girl extraordinaire. But shh!" She held up a finger to her lips and winked. "No one else can know."

His stupidly perfect grin overtook his face again and she faltered, nearly tripping though she was standing still.

"Your secret is safe with me, M'Lady."

They stood smiling at each other for a moment too long before Marinette tore her eyes from his. He seemed to slump out from under her stare and rubbed his face in exhaustion. When he reappeared from behind his hands, she couldn't help but giggle, noting the streaks of soot across his cheeks and down his nose. He looked at her questioningly, his mouth twitching ever so slightly at the sound of her laughter. Marinette nodded towards the open bathroom and watched as he walked in, smiling wider when his deep chuckle resonated from within the small space. She fell silent when she heard a far-too-realistic meow come from the bathroom, but dissolved into genuine laughter when the man emerged holding an obviously displeased black cat next to his face.

* * *

Adrien felt warm waves flow through his body at the sound of her throaty laughter. He didn't know who she was, other than his neighbor and the most beautiful savior he could have asked for. He'd watched in awe as she pushed into his apartment, maneuvering through his space with ease and handling the smoke detector like a pro. Adrien was not an idiot by any means, but as he watched her turn on the exhaust vents and wave directly at the detector to dispel the smoke, he certainly felt like one. Clearly, his domestic-common sense was not only non-existent, it was plunging into the negatives.

Now he stood in front of her, holding up an irate Plagg-his twin of the moment with the burnt-food dust he'd managed to wipe in a whisker-like pattern on his face-with a silly grin. Her giggles tapered off as she walked over, reaching a hand towards the cat.

He stiffened, poised to save her from his grump of a fluffball, but she was clearly a pro, holding a knuckle out to let him sniff her before reaching a hand tentatively to pet him. On a good day, the best Adrien could hope for was a half-hearted hiss followed by Plagg primly slinking out of his arms and away from the stranger. To say his cat surprised him would be an understatement. The black cat did indeed squirm out of his arms, but instead stretched towards Marinette. Her face lit up in glee as she reached for him too, cuddling him close and letting him drape his massive body over her shoulder.

"He's heavy," Adrien warned belatedly, but the woman- Marinette, she said her name was- just smirked at him.

"I grew up in a bakery," she informed him with a smile at the cat butt near her face. "If I can heft 20 kilo sacks of flour, I think I can handle your cat."

"Plagg," Adrien supplied and she cooed Plagg's name to him, combing through his fur and being rewarded with a low purr.

"And you, kitty?" she looked up and it took him a moment to realized she was addressing him. Smirking, he responded.

"Adrien."

"Hmm," she hummed back, leaning her head against Plagg's warm body and starting to rock back and forth slightly. His traitorous cat purred louder, chirping in happiness. "Well, Adrien," she continued, his name falling deliberately off her tongue and making him smile. "Do you want to tell me why you're smoke detector had been blaring non-stop for the last three days?"

He cringed, his smile morphing into a grimace as he looked at the teasing scowl on Marinette's face.

"I'm, well-" he lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I'm trying to teach myself how to cook."

Marinette pursed her lips, but her eyes danced.

"How's that going?" She asked sweetly and he just groaned in response, hanging his head.

"It might be safer for the rest of you if I starve," he admitted and her tinkling laughter lit up the room again.

"No! You can do it!" She reached down and grabbed his hand, tugging him towards the small kitchen. He followed along willingly.

She planted him in front of the stove. Placing Plagg down on the counter with a pat, she moved towards the two pans of burnt garlic, checking to make sure they were cool, before rinsing out the pans.

"Step one is to start with a clean kitchen," she announced and Adrien hurried to move the lasagna he'd killed, hiding his disastrous masterpiece in the microwave before grabbing supplies to clean up the splattered oil that coated his stove.

Step by step, Marinette took him through sauteeing the vegetables and compiling the lasagna, making him do the work, but throwing helpful hints out along the way.

Putting the vegetables aside for later, he transferred the lasagna to the oven, being sure to set the timer this time. Standing up, he was pleased to see he was no dirtier than when he'd started and turned around to Marinette's applause. She was perched sitting on the counter, her smile radiant, and he bowed extravagantly.

"Many thanks, M'Lady," he smiled back up at her, but she waved him off.

"It was selfish, really," she assured him. "I couldn't have you burning down the building. I'm quite fond of my apartment."

He chuckled at her as she hopped down and started to shoo him out of his own kitchen.

"Now, go get changed. You look like you went dumpster diving. I'll watch the food."

"Hey!" he protested, not putting up much resistance as she pushed him, but shocked nonetheless at her strength as she did. "Who's the chef of this kitchen."

She stopped pushing and he spared a glance around, smirking at her raised eyebrow.

"Changing now," he announced, smiling sweetly at her as he went to follow orders.

"Good!" she called back, her own smile peeking through. Just as he turned, he caught the delicate blush that rose to her cheeks and smiled wider, his own face coloring at the idea of the enchanting young woman who had quite literally just barged into his life.

* * *

Marinette perched herself again on the counter of Adrien's kitchen. Swinging her feet and humming lightly to herself, she used his absence to take in his apartment. It was sparse with too much chrome and dark leather finishes punctuated by contrastingly warm human touches of pictures, posters and more than a few anime DVDs. It was as if he'd looked up a picture of "Young Man's Apartment" online and followed it to perfection only for his inner-nerd to overwhelm the picture-perfect attempt.

She smirked noticing a bag hanging on the door with a slew of newly released comic books peeking out. Cat-boy was definitely a geek.

She was still smirking when she heard the bedroom door shut and Adrien reappeared. His hair newly washed and snug black tee shirt haphazardly tucked into slim gray joggers, it took all of Marinette's willpower to keep her jaw in place. He'd taken off his glasses, rubbing the smudges off them furiously with the hem of his shirt, and it finally clicked in her mind.

Adrien.

That familiar smile.

He was Adrien Agreste.

Model, son and heir of the largest fashion empire in Paris, Agreste Galleries.

Agreste Galleries, whose very design competition his smoke detector had distracted her from designing for.

_Cat-boy_ was Adrien Agreste.

She squeaked, her face coloring as she realized she'd had pictures of cat-boy plastered on her walls as a child.

Yes he was older, his face more chiseled and his body...well, that had certainly grown up as well. He hadn't been in any magazines for years, apparently having stopped modeling as he prepared to take over the business, but Marinette would recognize those eyes anywhere. Now that they weren't hidden behind dirt-smeared glasses, it was undeniable.

"You okay?" he looked at her quizzically, his round glasses perched once again on his nose, the teal tortoise pattern doing nothing to distract from the dizzying color of his eyes.

She nodded weekly, making some noncommittal sound as she slid off the counter. Cringing at the pins and needles that shot through her feet, she stumbled across the short kitchen and started shuffling around the kitchen in a tizzy. Cleaning, tidying, doing anything to avoid eye-contact. This was just cat-boy. Her _neighbor_ Adrien. She could answer him normally as long as she didn't look at his eyes.

Grabbing the bowl of vegetables, she gathered her courage and spun to face him.

"You're Adrien Agreste," she announced, her voice louder than she had intended.

He cringed, as if used to his name being thrown out as an insult or accusation and she immediately felt guilty.

"Sorry," she amended, looking down at the vegetables in her hand. "I just hadn't recognized you before."

"It's not something I like to lead with," he admitted, his hands fidgeting but he held her gaze. Then his face lit up as a burst of laughter escaped his lips. "Unrecognizable, huh? I must have really been a hot mess when you came in."

She smiled back tentatively as he voiced nearly her exact thought from earlier, easily losing herself in his easy smiles and carefree teasing.

"Being a bit presumptuous by saying _hot_, huh kitty?" she quickly quipped back and his grin impossibly widened. She felt the blush rise to her cheeks, but didn't shy away.

Then she remembered the competition and sighed.

"But I should go."

"What? Why?"

He took a step closer to her, his eyes obviously distressed and she was flattered. "I mean," he quickly added. "You can definitely leave if you want to. I'm not trying to hold you prisoner or anything."

"No, no, no. Not that," she waved off his concerns and watched him physically relax. "Besides, I think I could take you," she winked, tensing her bicep dramatically and loving the way his eyes twinkled at her teasing.

"But I'm a designer," she continued with a sad smile. "I'm entering the company competition, so I really shouldn't be here. I don't want it to look like I was trying to cut corners."

"Isn't cut corners exactly what designers do?"

"You know what I mean," she rolled her eyes. "I don't want to look like I'm befriending the judges or anything."

"I get it," His eyes lit up again. "But I don't have anything to do with the competition, and besides, I'm on sabbatical for the year. No one even knows I'm in Paris! I've been incognito."

He waggled his eyebrows at her and she looked back at him unconvinced. She wasn't too sure how the _incognito_ part would work out for him. It took her all of two seconds to recognize him once he wasn't covered in tomato sauce and soot, but she didn't say anything. She'd let Adrien believe he had any hope of anonymity.

"Maybe it doesn't matter anyway," she sighed.

"Why?" He leaned against the counter. He must have listened to designers droll on his entire life, yet he looked at her with such sincere interest, she couldn't help but reply.

"I'm stuck," she answered honestly with a shrug, moving towards the microwave with the vegetables.

"Need a muse?" He smirked at her, striking a ridiculous pose and making kissy faces at her.

She blinked at him for a moment before bursting out in laughter, her head rolling back in abandon as she felt herself truly relax for the first time in days. Still shaking her head as she imagined how very _unhelpful_ he would be smoldering at her as she tried to work, she reached to grab the microwave door to place the bowl of vegetables in there to keep warm. A clink diverted her attention to what she expected to be a vacant appliance and eyes lighted on a casserole dish in her way. Still crackling with Adrien's abusive first attempt at lasagna, the dry pasta curled up from under its blackened surface, hinting at the deep red of tomatoes and muted creaminess of ricotta.

She sucked in a breath as it came to her.

A sleek satin bodice with an elegant boatneck and precise darting, accents of red and cream towards the skirt…

She dropped the bowl on the counter and scrambled around looking for something to draw with. Her eyes landed on a dry erase board hanging on the wall, and she pounced lest the inspiration flit away.

Adrien watched her with a curious look, but hastily moved out of her way as she dove towards the wall and grabbed the marker.

It would be a two piece ensemble with skirt variations, attachable to the top, or falling lower on the waist to show a tasteful peek of skin. She traced the outlines from her mind.

A professional pencil skirt, lined in a red and cream watercolor print of her own imagination, the slit at the back tacked like lapels to expose the hint of color.

A circle skirt. Black fabric overlay, but cut straight up the middle, the edges scalloped with a colored underskirt. She could imagine how with each step, the top layer would flutter back, revealing the same watercolor print as the pencil skirt, but also a deep burgundy silk nestled between the two.

Then, the dramatic piece. A floor length skirt of the same black fabric, hugging the hips before falling away in a myriad of structured ruffles, the black gleaming. With each step the layers would flounce, flipping to show off the colors each ruffle was individually lined with.

It would be art in motion.

She flitted the marker around the small space, gliding it to a stop as she drew the final line before stepping back. She released a breath she'd been holding in for days now as she surveyed the results. Smile lighting up her face, she felt Adrien tentatively creeping over her shoulder and she turned to look at him, a proud flush coloring her cheeks as she took in his awed expression.

"Sorry for commandeering your whiteboard," she commented when he didn't say anything. He waved her off with a dismissive hand.

"Please. You forget I grew up with a designer. I am very used to spurts of creative mania," his face remained contemplative, but there was a sadness in his eyes she hadn't noticed before. It was a look that seemed at home on his face, yet it grated on her. It wasn't an expression worthy of the goofy kitty she'd come to think of him as.

"Hey," she laid a hand on his arm lightly. "What is it?"

He looked down at her, his eyes flitting to where her hand rested before meeting her gaze again, the sadness fading a bit as he smiled, his eyes crinkling sincerely.

"I'm just mad I was so easily replaced as your muse," he responded jokingly, and Marinette let him brush off his moment of melancholy. "By lasagna!" he continued in overly-dramatic exasperation. "_Burnt_ lasagna!"

She giggled, leaning against the counter and cocking her head at him.

"In fairness, I don't think I can confidently label that charred mess _lasagna. _And besides," she smirked up at him. "You did create the source of my inspiration."

"So I'm still your muse?" The corner of his mouth quirked impishly as he took a step closer to her. "What's my reward for this bout of inspiration?"

Marinette took a deep breath and sighed, her face twisting in consideration even as her heart leapt at his proximity. Reaching to grab the whiteboard off the wall, she looked back and forth between her _muse_ and her creation, the corner of her eye catching the clock and smirking at her own cleverness.

Taking a step forwards herself, leaving only a sliver of space between her and Adrien, she reached up on her tiptoes and whispered her response.

"An edible meal."

Her words were punctuated by the dinging of the over. Adrien turned automatically to look and she quickly pressed a kiss to his offered cheek before scurrying out the door, whiteboard securely in hand.

Adrien watched the thief go with a growing smile on his face, knowing with surprising certainty that she'd absconded with more than just his whiteboard.


End file.
